Rough Justice
Posted: Fri Aug 21, 2009 9:10 pm
This is something I composed during the "troubles", so it is a bit dated.
ROUGH JUSTICE
As IRA bombers go, Paddy O’Sullivan was one of the best. Was being the operative word, because he is no longer performing this nefarious activity. Not for him the quick lob in through the doorway of a crowded café, and a hasty retreat. No, his devices were precision made, and timed to detonate at the precise moment of maximum psychological impact, and placed in position long before the event.
He was a craftsman, who took a delight in the efficiency of his creations, with a 100% success rate, which pleased his IRA masters, who supplied him with everyday funding and bonuses, after each successful operation.
It was one of his regrets that his children were not as well behaved as his devices. His 15 year old daughter, Bridget, had recently taken up with a neer-do-well local ruffian who had already done time in a Young Offenders Institute, for stealing cars. Despite his, and his wife’s protestations, she was besotted with this undesirable, and any day they were expecting to hear that she was expecting.
His 12 year old son Conor, was also starting to give problems, mixing with a bad crowd at school, at which he was an irregular attender. Altogether,Paddy did not have his problems to seek.
One other thing that niggled him, was that his targets, were occasionally some of his own kind – like the local Publican who had been defaulting on his “protection” payments. The targets were dictated by the higher echelons of the IRA command, and they felt that sometimes some of their own, had to be brought into line. However, he couldn’t really complain as long as his taskmasters paid the bills.
There were the innocent bystanders who suffered as a result of his activities, and although he liked to witness each explosion taking place, he was careful to do this from a distance, where he could hear the detonation, but not actually witness the carnage it created. After hearing the sirens of the police cars and the bells of the ambulances, he went away satisfied with another success and a well earned bonus.
His last job was one that he thought he had botched. A local councillor and magistrate, who owned a nearby playing field and decrepit grandstand, had displeased the IRA hierarchy by sentencing one of their senior officers to a long stretch in Long Kesh. Retribution was called for, and it was decided that blowing up his grandstand before the start of a local derby match, would be a salutary lesson.
Paddy got his instructions, the bomb was placed, but Paddy, watching from a safe distance, was disappointed that the explosion did not take place as expected., and concluded that he had chalked up his first failure.
What he had failed to take into account, was that there had been the seasonal hour change during the night, and his device did detonate an hour later, when the grandstand was crowded with spectators.
Apart from the wrecked grandstand, there were eleven fatalities and over thirty injuries, including Paddy’s son Conor and two of his mates, who had been at ground zero at the time of the explosion.
ROUGH JUSTICE
As IRA bombers go, Paddy O’Sullivan was one of the best. Was being the operative word, because he is no longer performing this nefarious activity. Not for him the quick lob in through the doorway of a crowded café, and a hasty retreat. No, his devices were precision made, and timed to detonate at the precise moment of maximum psychological impact, and placed in position long before the event.
He was a craftsman, who took a delight in the efficiency of his creations, with a 100% success rate, which pleased his IRA masters, who supplied him with everyday funding and bonuses, after each successful operation.
It was one of his regrets that his children were not as well behaved as his devices. His 15 year old daughter, Bridget, had recently taken up with a neer-do-well local ruffian who had already done time in a Young Offenders Institute, for stealing cars. Despite his, and his wife’s protestations, she was besotted with this undesirable, and any day they were expecting to hear that she was expecting.
His 12 year old son Conor, was also starting to give problems, mixing with a bad crowd at school, at which he was an irregular attender. Altogether,Paddy did not have his problems to seek.
One other thing that niggled him, was that his targets, were occasionally some of his own kind – like the local Publican who had been defaulting on his “protection” payments. The targets were dictated by the higher echelons of the IRA command, and they felt that sometimes some of their own, had to be brought into line. However, he couldn’t really complain as long as his taskmasters paid the bills.
There were the innocent bystanders who suffered as a result of his activities, and although he liked to witness each explosion taking place, he was careful to do this from a distance, where he could hear the detonation, but not actually witness the carnage it created. After hearing the sirens of the police cars and the bells of the ambulances, he went away satisfied with another success and a well earned bonus.
His last job was one that he thought he had botched. A local councillor and magistrate, who owned a nearby playing field and decrepit grandstand, had displeased the IRA hierarchy by sentencing one of their senior officers to a long stretch in Long Kesh. Retribution was called for, and it was decided that blowing up his grandstand before the start of a local derby match, would be a salutary lesson.
Paddy got his instructions, the bomb was placed, but Paddy, watching from a safe distance, was disappointed that the explosion did not take place as expected., and concluded that he had chalked up his first failure.
What he had failed to take into account, was that there had been the seasonal hour change during the night, and his device did detonate an hour later, when the grandstand was crowded with spectators.
Apart from the wrecked grandstand, there were eleven fatalities and over thirty injuries, including Paddy’s son Conor and two of his mates, who had been at ground zero at the time of the explosion.